Page 90 of Void of Endings
Parisa nodded sharply.
The last thing Tiernan saw was the sickening gleam in her eyes before pain exploded along the side of his head, and everything went dark.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Eventually, the haunting sounds of Kells ebbed away into nothing more than a distant memory, but Maeve had yet to find the good. Or a way out. Or the way home.
She eased herself up from the ground, body trembling, aching from clutching her knees to her chest for so long. Agony swept through her, followed by a damning rush of despair.
The cage taunted her. Ridiculed her. Sent her back to those moments when she was an innocent mortal trapped in a world of hatred with a woman who would rather see her dead than alive. Maeve couldn’t recall how many empty hours she’d spent alone in that cage over the Cliffs of Morrigan, praying she didn’t fall to her death, crying herself to sleep until the sea spray from the ocean replaced her tears. Even the sky looked the same. Looming gray clouds blotted out the sun as it slowly crept toward the west.
“Let me out,” she whispered into the mist. It churned and sifted, making it impossible to see anything. “Please, let me out.”
The hairs along the back of her neck rose when an indistinct noise sounded from off to her right. She froze in place, straining to hear. Heavy footfalls were met with labored grunts and muttering. Holding her breath, she stepped closer toward theedge of the cage, her hands lightly wrapping around the cool bars as she peered into the thick haze of clouds. The resounding clank of metal echoed in her ears, and a figure emerged from the mist.
Maeve startled, backing away.
A Spring guard ambled toward her, his evergreen leathers scuffed and worn, the golden buckles at his waist tarnished. His face was lean, framed by disheveled brown hair that fell in uneven lengths to his shoulders. He looked as though he’d just returned from war, or perhaps he’d already seen too much and would not survive another. His brow was etched in a permanent line of mistrust, and there was the faintest sheen of wariness as he approached her. In one hand, he carried a sword, in the other, a dagger.
Trepidation slithered over Maeve’s skin, chilling her.
The guard held out his hands, just beyond the bars of the cage.
“Choose your weapon,” he stated, his voice gruff.
Maeve glanced down at the offerings in his hand, then back up at him. “What?”
“Choose now,” he spat, “or I will choose for you.”
“Okay, fine.” Panic seized her. She had no idea what was happening, but she certainly didn’t want to test this guard’s seeming lack of patience. Twisting her hands together, her gaze darted between the two weapons. She knew her strengths, knew instinctively which one would serve as an extension of herself. The dagger would always win.
Maeve rolled her shoulders back. “The dagger.”
The guard eyed her curiously, arching one brow. “Are you quick with it?”
She smirked. “You could say that.”
“Good.” He tossed the dagger in between the bars and it clattered onto the stone ground at her feet. “You’ll need all the help you can get.”
The guard stalked off and Maeve quickly scooped up the dagger.
It was no Aurastone.
The weight held even in her palm, and the leather was smooth in her grip, catching on the calluses of her hand. Tiny whorls were carved into the blade, and both edges were finely sharpened. She flipped it into the air, caught it, and then swung, arcing her arm through the lingering mist. It may not have had the deadly ease of the Aurastone, but it was still an expertly crafted weapon.
The only thing Maeve couldn’t figure out was why it had been given to her.
Some more muffled noises drifted through the mist and she clutched the dagger to her body, tensing on instinct. Murmurs seemed to come from every angle, colliding with whispers and the shuffling of feet. She moved in a slow circle, placing one foot in front of the other, careful not to make a sound. Her gaze scanned the swirling mist, scouring the shadows for any sign of life, any kind of movement. She would fight whatever came her way.
I will not yield.
I will not break.
“Welcome, all.” Parisa’s piercing voice cut through her thoughts, and Maeve spun to face an unseen threat. “To the first annual BloodFest.”
Maeve’s grip on the dagger tightened, and her heart rate quickened. What the hell was a BloodFest?
“As many of you have heard,” Parisa continued, her voice sounding nowhere and everywhere at once. “We have a specialguest among us tonight, one who will serve as our first ever participant.”
